


You Can Always Be Found

by basicallymonsters



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Heart-to-Heart, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basicallymonsters/pseuds/basicallymonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam has a day off, and he and Ronan spend it tangled in each other and their friends. </p><p>They lounge around Monmouth; fooling around, fucking with Gansey, and bickering constantly - but it's all underpinned with real conversation about religion, sexuality, and feelings.</p><p>(Just barely pre-epilogue)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Always Be Found

**Author's Note:**

> Could be read as a sequel to Hold On to Me as We Go, if you're into that sort of thing !

It’s the darkest part of evening before the sky bruises into night, mid-spring already smoothing into summer with the broad strokes of lingering sunlit evenings.

The April air is curiously warm on Adam’s sweaty skin, humid in his tatty converse and slick at his temples. The edge of the heat and the exhaustion from work is only blunted by Monmouth jutting against the horizon, refracting white hot sunset through its massive windows.

It feels like his second home in a good way now, a club house or an ecosystem set for the strangest minds in Henrietta. Monmouth is not the display shelf Adam once feared it was.

He reaches the door on weak legs and takes the stairs one at a time, steps creaking underfoot. He can hear techno garbage on surprisingly low halfway up, tumbling out to meet him as soon as he’s hauled the door open.

“Honeys, I’m home,” he announces, dropping his bag heavily at the door.

Ronan is lounging in his underwear and an unzipped hoodie, one leg thrown over Gansey’s lap.

Gansey — who appears to be toying with the cap on a drinkable yogurt — is barefoot and bright in a magenta polo. He waves an absent hello, caught up in reading the label on the bottle.

“Welcome back darling,” Ronan says drily, not looking up from the TV, “tough day at the office?”

“The usual headache. Guy wants to fire the only other active mechanic for “frequent tardiness” and leave me in charge.”

“Is that good?” Ronan asks, eyebrow raised.

“Not unless Guy wants to pick up the slack or maybe, I dunno, touch a car ever.” Adam slides his shoes off and leans over the back of the couch. “Hey,” he says, softer, kissing Ronan and then prodding at his leg until he moves it.

He rounds the couch and slots himself into the newly open space, exhaling noisily at the comfortable suck of the cushions.

“Hey Adam, do you want an Activia beverage, by any chance?” Gansey asks, extending the bottle gingerly towards him.

“Not if you paid me,” he responds lightly, tipping back into the couch and closing his eyes. Ronan scratches a hand through his matted hair and Adam arches into it.

“I thought it would remind me of Blue but it just reminds me of Pepto Bismol. It’s _wretched_.”

“Does this mean you guys left the house today?” Adam asks.

“We went to the store for toilet paper and orange juice, and Dick here came to the till with yogurt and office supplies, so we’re about… negative one step closer to productivity.”

Adam snorts and Gansey flaps an unaffected hand. “I needed highlighters for my—“

“Weird fuckin’ occultist journal,” Ronan interjects, “yeah, I wouldn’t label that as a need.”

“What’s your excuse for the yogurt?” Adam asks, and Ronan laughs obnoxiously.

“He’s feeling ‘sentimental’ because it’s been a year since we met Sargent. I think he’s planning on throwing a party, maybe popping the question. Possibly having a three-way ceremony with Cheng, undetermined.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Gansey complains, screwing the cap back onto his yogurt and nudging Adam. “You’re supposed to be mellowing him.”

Adam shrugs. “He has a pretty loose grasp on mellow.”

Gansey hums, amused. “Speaking of mellow, you have the day off tomorrow, right? The world is our Oyster.”

Ronan throws an arm over Adam’s shoulder and lolls his head towards them. “No, the world is _our_ Oyster. We’ve got big plans pretty much constantly for the next 36 hours.”

Adam cocks his head at him. “Do we?”

Ronan quirks a real smile and drags him in so they’re chest to back. “ _Big_ plans.”

“Don’t you have a god to be worshipping from 8 to 11?” Gansey asks. Ronan looks past Adam, eyes narrowed.

“Catholicism is a full-time gig, Gansey.”

“I thought being the worst was your full-time gig,” Adam says.

“Wow. Dumped. Get your things and go,” Ronan says, lifting a finger to point at the door but leaving the rest of his arm draped about Adam’s neck.

“I beg your pardon,” Gansey interjects flatly, “don’t you have brothers to appease from 8 to 11?”

Ronan shrugs, faux confident. “Adam’ll come with me.”

“Adam will _not_ come with you,” Adam says, turning in his arms to level a glare at him. “We’ve talked about this. Affable Irish catholic brothers, yes. Atheist bisexual boyfriends, no. Do I need to make flashcards?”

“I get the gist,” he says, smirking. “You could’ve been saved though, man, confessed your gay transgressions, supped on Jesus’ blood and shit.”

“He’s so devout,” Adam says to Gansey, who grins.

“I get Adam in the morning then,” Gansey starts, and Adam makes a face.

“This isn’t a custody battle.“

“ _My bed_ gets Adam in the morning, let the poor bastard sleep in. He’s looking haggard,” Ronan says, squeezing Adam’s face by the cheeks and twisting him towards Gansey.

Gansey examines his smushed face closely and nods, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Fine, but we’re having group dinner at Nino’s tomorrow. And you can’t be loud tonight, okay, it’s my Saturday night too.”

“Oh yeah, big plans buddy? Waiting for your girlfriend to call and sing you to sleep?”

Gansey splutters, “she does not- she doesn’t _sing_ —“

“Great, he’s distracted, let’s go,” Ronan says loudly, tugging Adam up from the couch.

“Nice,” Gansey scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Adam tries to protest, “but we never hang out, wait, Ronan—“

“You can play with Gansey when you’re not falling asleep standing up, idiot. You weren’t even appreciating my cheapest shots, you’re in no state.”

Adam accepts it wordlessly, knocking fists with Gansey on his way by and letting his weight drag Ronan down.

“Jesus, you could try to carry some of your own fucking weight.”

“You could try to follow through on a nice gesture,” Adam shoots back, a little too slurred to have any heat.

“No fun in that,” Ronan murmurs, adjusting his grip on Adam’s waist. “‘Night Dick. Hope you use protection for that steamy goodnight phone call.”

“Hope Adam doesn’t catch your bad attitude,” Gansey calls back.

Adam just makes out the ghost of Ronan’s smile as he shoulders his door open and deposits Adam heavily on the mattress. He bounces a couple of times and glances down when Ronan starts pulling off his socks and unrolling the cuffs of his jeans.

“You’re not my nursemaid,” Adam says, voice warm and lethargic around the edges.

“But you are an invalid. Hips up,” Ronan prompts, waiting with his hands fisted in the denim. Adam rolls his pelvis off the bed and Ronan tugs his jeans all the way off, kissing his calf chastely in their wake.

He crawls up the mattress and tangles their legs together, thumbing the skin where Adam’s t-shirt is caught up, scratching through the spray of hair meandering towards his waistband. There is quiet for the first time in Adam’s day, run through with the joy of Gansey-Ronan-Adam; the power of the three of them — old and vital as a hunt for a king.

“Hey,” Adam says, nosing along Ronan’s jaw, shifting his weight so he’s spread out along his side, leg hitched over his lap.

“Hey,” Ronan says back, as soft as he gets, one hand kneading gently at Adam’s sore shoulders.

“All that big plans stuff was bullshit, right?”

“No, I have huge plans, grand scheme stuff. Like you not having bags under your eyes. You not wearing pants for the rest of the weekend. That kind of shit.”

“Hmm. Opal at Fox Way?”

“Yeah. She’s been shadowing the wicked bitch of the west—”

“You _know_ her name is Calla.”

“—And Blue said she has a little talent at psychometry. Like she retained some dream magic and she can apply it? I don’t know. It sounded like made up bullshit.”

“You should have a much bigger tolerance for bullshit, _greywaren_ ,” Adam teases.

“There’s a difference between magic and telling people what they want to hear,” Ronan says. The last of the daylight has seeped from the room, but Adam could still tell you the exact furrow of Ronan’s brow by the grate in his voice.

“You should know,” Adam says mildly, and dips his head to kiss Ronan’s collarbone. “Love you.”

He feels Ronan go all soft and fumbling underneath him, though he barely moves. “Go to sleep, Adam.”

“Adam,” Adam echoes, a bit delirious. “I like when you call me that.”

“By your name? Yeah, it’s my most creative pet name yet.”

Adam smiles, comforted by his candy sweet bravado, and falls gratefully to sleep.

____

He sleeps for almost 11 hours, interrupted only for a stretch of a few minutes when Ronan was dressing in the hazy morning light, leaning down to kiss him back to sleep.

He wakes for real at 10:30, sunshine sloshing in through half drawn curtains, Ronan’s bed a mess of tangled sheets around his legs. The late morning is unfamiliar and messy to a precise waker like Adam, as if he wandered into a movie after all the exposition, just in time for boy to meet girl.

He stretches into the swath of warmth striping the bed, pleasantly boneless and well rested. He feels like an entirely different creature from the far away Adam toiling under the hoods of cars and wiping grease away with more grease.

Ronan’s bed is plush and massive and blocks away from shrieking Sunday school goers. He could _live in it,_ roll over and oversleep, treat Monmouth to some regular dreams, act like his day off was a life off.

He gets up instead, pulls his day old shirt off and shrugs on one of Ronan’s homemade tank tops, split down the sides and loose at the collar. He watches the humming world outside the window and enjoys a sensation like mindless enjoyment, killing time when all he usually wants is to keep his precious time alive.

Finally, Adam wanders into the main room of Monmouth, grand and golden in the midmorning. Gansey is sitting crosslegged in the middle of a maelstrom of papers, studying something entirely removed from the Aglionby curriculum.

“There he is. Sleep well?” Gansey asks, eyes rimmed with dark circles but his face relaxed.

“Very.” He stoops to examine the nearest booklet of dog-eared pages. “‘Consciousness after death’? What are you doing with all this?”

Gansey smiles distractedly. “Oh, just a spot of research. Actually, hand me that, would you?”

He does, silently, smothering his own indulgent smile before it can manifest.

“Do you need a second pair of eyes?” Adam asks after a moment, and Gansey looks up at him.

“Oh. Oh! I’m a terrible host, Adam, I’m sorry, I forgot you were… well I guess I won custody after all,” he finishes, mildly flushed and struggling to stand without upsetting his papers.

“I guess you did,” Adam agrees, reaching out a hand to steady Gansey as he hops across islands of open floor to the edge of his research. They end up primly holding hands on the outskirts of a mountain of maps and articles and handwritten letters, and Adam grins at Gansey so hard his face hurts.

“I missed research-Gansey. Peak of his intellectual prowess in the pursuit of magic Gansey.”

Gansey looks flattered or chastened, and he pats Adam’s hand fondly before letting go. “If only I could channel him for finals.”

Adam shrugs. “I’m not so worried about them.”

“Of course _you’re_ not worried about them,” Gansey says, flicking dismissive fingers towards him. “I have about a million distractions. You’re so utterly focused.”

Adam squints. As if Gansey’s political luncheons and strange side projects and dates with Blue were unavoidable obstacles. As if Adam didn’t fight tooth and nail for his focus.

He breathes out slowly and takes the high road. “I can think of at least one distraction that keeps trying to drag me out of town and plays electronica when I’m studying.”

Gansey nods sympathetically. “I can call him off, probably, if you’d like.”

Adam can’t quell his indulgent smile this time. “You definitely cannot, but thanks. It’s not too bad, actually. Study breaks are more fun.”

“I don’t want to know,” Gansey laughs, maneuvering to his desk past what Adam swears is an entire branch of the library in uneven stacks. “It’s good though. You two. Do you know the other night he texted me back right away? All he said was ‘fuck you’ but it was growth, I think.”

“Was there any punctuation?” Adam asks.

Gansey quirks a brow. “No?”

“Then you’re in the clear. ‘Fuck you’ is Ronan at his most affectionate, ‘fuck you.’ with a period actually means fuck you.”

“Fascinating. You’ve decoded him,” Gansey says, smirking.

“He’s easy to read,” Adam replies, fingering an overhanging leaf on Gansey’s mint plant. He can sense Gansey going still and strange beside him and his hand drops.

“Adam, I…” he clears his throat. “I’ve been meaning to say. You know, um, months ago, when I told you not to hurt Ronan?”

Adam frowns, nodding slowly.

“I’ve been informed that that was rather unfair. I mean obviously I _didn’t_ want you to hurt him but— I didn’t _expect_ you to, either. Not for a second. I didn’t want you to think…” he rubs the purple beneath his eyes.

“The more I see you two together the more I can’t even remember how I thought you didn’t like each other. You’re good for him, and you’re careful with him and I hope he’s careful with you. I said don’t hurt him but I meant… don’t believe him when he says he’s fine, or- or he slams a door. I always thought he was so hard to read, but I guess you know better.” He smiles and wedges a leg between his body and the ancient leather desk chair. “Perhaps I am a bit sentimental, but. I’m glad the people I love love each other.”

Adam feels the slow tide of affection rush up to meet him and he looks at his lap.

“I get it,” he says softly. “You feel responsible for him.”

“Yes,” Gansey says gratefully, “But I feel _impressed_ by you. More and more. Constantly. I guess I thought maybe you wouldn’t — it’s terrible, but the way Ronan acts sometimes… I didn’t know if you would keep him. It was like if a really cool person wanted to adopt your unruly kid. I knew you would do great, but I also knew how much it would hurt the kid if you couldn’t be there anymore.”

“Okay first of all we’ve gotta stop with the parent-child metaphors,” Adam starts, exasperated, and Gansey barks a laugh. “Second of all, I really do get it. But I’m. I mean. I’m not this great untouchable person. I don’t belong on that pedestal, man. Ronan and I are together because we’re honest with each other and we’re into every single thing that we do. No one’s humouring anyone, no one’s putting up with things they don’t like or ignoring flaws, believe me.

And if we’re still breaking down that metaphor, he’s not an unruly kid either. He’s shitty at dealing with his feelings, yeah, but he’s got everything— _anything_ inside his head, good and bad. And there’s still space for humanity and kindness and fucking— recklessness and-“ he licks his lips. “And us. He’s got this incredible way of making the smallest gestures huge. I’d worry I was gonna hurt him too if I thought I could.” Adam looks at Gansey’s wide open expression and smiles. “He knows I’m coming back. I know he’s with me for good. We’ve had enough hurt, I think. I’m not interested in generating any more.”

“I didn’t ask for a sonnet, Adam,” Gansey says, and it’s the world’s most careful joke, eyes down, tension breaking to pieces around them.

Adam groans. “God, you should hear yourself talking about Blue. Or Henry.”

Gansey sniffs. “It’s not my fault that I’m dating the cream of the crop.”

“Okay, but it is your fault that you talk like that.”

Gansey shoves him, but he’s smiling sunnily, his still beating heart on his sleeve, as always.

“Remember a year ago when you wanted Ronan dead, and told me so constantly and emphatically?”

“Remember when you called Blue a hooker and she stole your journal?” Adam retorts.

“It was a meet cute!” he protests, “we’ll tell the story at our wedding.”

Adam hums, chest light and head clear. Proper sleep and morning conversation with best friends feels strangely surreal to the overworked and distracted.

“So you _are_ popping the question,” Adam says, sly, watching Gansey rewind to Ronan’s offhand comment and brushing surprise from his metaphorical lapels.

“Certainly not, Jane would have my head. Marriage is a religious institution designed to imprison women and rear children, etc.” He straightens his desk absently. “Plus we’re 18.”

“Yeah. I was thinking about it. Marriage isn’t even on the list of things I wanted to accomplish, like. I guess maybe at number 200 or something, as an afterthought. But it popped into my head the other day that, like, theoretically, Ronan would probably want to get married in a church. To whomever. Like with a minister and you as his best man and Matthew and Blue as groomsmen. Grooms _people_.

And he’d want to retire to the farm and raise kids and animals, and that’s… about the farthest from the plan as I think I could get.” Adam watches the shadows of foliage sway on the far wall, and feels his mouth go a little dry. “But I wouldn’t hate it.”

Gansey makes a face like he’s zipping neutrality over naked surprise.

“This is heavy pre-breakfast conversation, Adam,” he says, a little scolding, and Adam tilts his head back into the wall, a smile fighting its way back onto his face.

“It’s also pretty heavy for six months into a relationship, I think, but I like to consider the variables. Something for me to think about if this is as serious as it feels.”

“I’m thinking maybe you shouldn’t approach your future wedding as a math problem,” Gansey says, amused.

“Everything’s a math problem.”

“Not everything’s solvable,” Gansey replies.

“Deep. Do you want to drown our troubles in orange juice?” Adam asks, halfway to his feet, hand extended. Gansey looks sheepish and Adam sighs. “You forgot to buy the orange juice.”

“The yogurt—“ Gansey says feebly.

The door slams open, and Ronan strides in, rumpled in his Sunday best.

“Talking shit?” He asks, scanning the state of the factory and grinning sharply.

“Constantly since you left,” Adam says, crossing his arms neatly and trying not to grin back at him.

Ronan tramples about half the papers on his way over to them, eyes more trained on Adam than the minefield of notes.

“You were wiped the fuck out when I left.”

Adam shrugs and Ronan reaches for his face, tilting his chin so his vision swims yellow hot in the sun. “Shit, you look like Adam but your eyes are all the way open? Like you seem 100% awake? There’s been a mix up.”

“Your jokes are even less funny when I’m alert,” Adam drawls, and Ronan looks delighted, as always, by his feigned malice. “How was Jesus?”

“Oh you know. Still dead. How was Gansey?”

“Still alive, at the moment.”

“Shame.”

“Did Declan provoke you?” Gansey asks and Ronan makes a noncommittal noise. Gansey waves him off as useless, tutting and turning back to his work.

“How’s Matthew?” Adam asks, softer, and Ronan gives him a private smile.

“He’s good. Happy. He wants a car.” He rolls his eyes.

“I don’t trust Matt’s attention span with a car,” Adam says and Ronan gusts out a breath all at once.

“Don’t even get me started.”

“Breakfast?” Adam diverts gently, and Ronan smirks. The lines of his mouth and his jaw and his creeping tattoo and his crisp white collar are all stacked on top of each other, neat and distracting.

“Breakfast is for people who got up before 11.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.”

Ronan shrugs, eyeing Adam’s boxers and borrowed, questionably stained shirt. “You’re lazy.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Speaking of dick,” he grins wolfishly at Adam but turns to look at Gansey.

“Declan and Matthew are coming to dinner tonight, so reserve or whatever.”

Gansey gapes, but recovers quickly enough to say, “they don’t do reservations at Nino’s, Ronan. It’s Nino’s.”

“Well, mentally prepare, dude, I just thought you should know. I’m taking Parrish now, have fun balls deep in history.”

He takes Adam by the wrist and leads him to the kitchen, disassembling his suit piece by piece as they walk.

“We have refrigerated bread because Gansey’s a freak, an old avocado, and a six pack. Pick your poison.”

“Toast?” Adam suggests.

Ronan yawns. “I would’ve gone six pack.”

They eat cold butter on toast and wash it down with mugs full of tap water, and then Ronan kisses him up against the fridge until Adam’s jaw hurts and the shadow at the door is definitely Gansey being too awkward to ask for the bathroom.

“So you mentioned plans,” Adam says, when they’re back in Ronan’s room, and there are at least 2 doors between them and Gansey.

Ronan kisses him in lieu of an answer, pressing in until Adam’s fingers curl in his undershirt.

It’s humid in his room, and Adam can still smell church on him, dusty and mildly perfumed. But Ronan slips his hands under the slit sides of the shirt he’s wearing and drops to his knees, and Adam forgets everything else.

____

“Do you think I would have made a good Catholic?” Adam asks, head tilted off the bed where he’s lying the wrong way across the middle of it.

They’re both mostly naked, and the bed is aggressively unmade, drooping soiled sheets off one side and comforter off the other.

Ronan’s cross legged on the floor eating raisinets, which is offensive enough, but then he says, “No,” and laughs like it’s ridiculous.

Adam sits up. “Why not?” he asks, half way to offended. Ronan looks sideways at him.

“Adam, you don’t believe in God. And you’re not quiet about your actual beliefs,” his eyes drop to Adam’s sticky chest and he flushes.

“But I’m not disrespectful,” Adam grumbles, settling back into the mattress. Ronan kisses his cheek messily.

“No, but you don’t take shit, either. If someone tells you you’re an abomination you’re not going to sit there and take it. Which I appreciate,” he says, and Adam smiles into the bedspread. “I’m sure you could read every edition of the bible front to back and be the most technically efficient catholic in the world, but I don’t think you’d ever entrust your soul to anyone but yourself.”

Adam blinks at the ceiling, pleasantly surprised.

He lets his head loll onto Ronan’s naked shoulder. “Well do you think I would have made a good magician? If I’d had time to learn,” he asks, quieter. Ronan makes a perturbed noise.

“I’m pretty confident I’ve never met anyone more capable than you, genius. I think you would’ve made Cabeswater your bitch. I also don’t think you need that connection to be a magician. I don’t think you need Persephone or a sink full of tin foil either,” Ronan’s voice goes dark and thorny and Adam knows he’s thinking of scrying and lost friends and the simultaneous rock bottom and impossible summit they’d reached all at once.

“Sometimes I think I can hear it. Air through the leaves or just— pieces of Latin. Sometimes I think being close to you is enough, like. You wouldn’t complain about the church burning down if you got a meet and greet with God.”

“I’m not—“

“You’re not,” Adam soothes, rubbing his nose along the hinge of Ronan’s jaw, feeling it unclench. “I miss it. You actually help. That’s the point I’m making.”

Ronan moves from under his head, climbing onto the mattress and recrossing his legs. He looks down into Adam’s expectant face, brow creased.

“You don’t need magic,” he says matter-of-factly.

Adam eyes him, evaluating. “Do you miss it though? Do you ever look at me and wish…”

“Fuck no. Fuck you,” Ronan says, hurt breaking his face into all these discordant pieces. It’s hard to believe there was a time that Adam didn’t recognize the fracture lines.

“I don’t think you’d consciously want more, but I’m built for the sort of work that you hate. The things that keep me alive are the things you’d find tedious. Magic made me different, but—“

Ronan moves back from him, shaking his head. “You don’t know _anything_. You think you’re only different because you said some magic words in the centre of a pentagram, Parrish, come on. _I’ll be your hands_ ,” Ronan mocks. “Like Cabeswater would hand over the keys to any idiot who asked. You’re different on your goddamn own. I can’t believe I have to spell this out for you like it’s a made for TV movie. _You’re_ magic. You.”

Adam rolls onto his side, one hand outstretched like he’s placating a spooked animal. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ronan asks, darting a glance at the door.

“Yeah, okay. I’m stuck with you. Good to know.”

Ronan lets his shoulders drop. “You’re not _stuck_ —“

“God, I know. You’re not allowed to take things literally anymore, not on my day off,” Adam complains, reaching out to tug on Ronan’s hand. He allows Adam to uncurl the fingers and shivers when he traces the lines of his palm with his index finger. “I want to be here.”

He doesn’t know if he means this city or this room or in these hands, but right now they all feel interchangeable.

“I love you,” Ronan breathes. “You’re more interesting than all the shit in my head, and you’re stupid if you think I’d want _more_. What’s more? What could be more?”

Adam pulls him down by the hand he’s still holding, kisses both his cheeks and his frowning mouth as soon as he’s close enough. “There’s always more,” he says gently. “You’re never going to leave the Barns if you think there’s nothing more than a few acres of dreams and your high school boyfriend.”

The idea of anyone stuffing themselves in a box like that is impossible to Adam. If you have the option to get out and you still choose complacency, can what you’re doing even be called living?

Ronan looks pained. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“But I need you to know,” Adam murmurs, swiping his thumb over Ronan’s slick lower lip. “And also, I love you too, even when you’re, like, Gansey levels of overreacting.”

“I’ve got to be theatrical sometimes, keep you interested.”

“Okay now it just feels like I’m in bed with Gansey,” Adam says, and yelps with laughter when Ronan rolls on top of him.

____

“I’ve been thinking,” Ronan says quietly. He’s propped up on one hand, the other tracing up and down Adam’s spine like he’s looking for a seam. “Did you ever have a thing for Gansey?”

Adam startles, looking up at him from the pillow of his own crossed arms. “Where did that come from?”

Ronan’s mouth gives a volatile twitch. “A pile of damning evidence from the last 2 years.”

Adam opens his mouth and closes it. Opens it again.

“I had a thing for him too Parrish, it’s not a big deal,” Ronan speaks before he can, and flops back onto his back. Adam misses the sweep of his touch immediately.

“You had _what_? You liked— Gansey. Our Gansey?”

Ronan looks blankly at him. “Well I’m not talking dick the second, am I.”

Adam cringes. “I hope not. I can’t believe you had a crush on Gansey,” he says, leveraging himself upright so he can look down at Ronan. Ronan shrugs as best he can while lying down, affects the uncaring sort of demeanour that has fooled Adam exactly never.

“He’s my best friend. I guess… I thought I might want boys before. On paper. But he was — I dunno. There. Attractive. Excitable. Looks you in the eyes when he’s fuckin’ talking to you. Probably doesn’t even know what ‘no homo’ means.”

Adam squints at him. “Are you saying Gansey was your _gay awakening_?”

“Like he wasn’t yours too,” Ronan grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and looking ridiculous — tense and grumpy and splayed out naked in bed.

“I knew when I was eight years old,” Adam corrects, loosening Ronan’s arms and lying in the open space, chin on his hands.

Ronan smooths a thumb over his eyebrow and looks thoughtful. “I didn’t even know it was an option when I was eight years old.”

“God, you’re so repressed,” Adam says.

They’re quiet for a second. He traces a bruise halfway down Ronan’s chest idly, and enjoys another lingering moment in what feels like an endless day, suspended in the unrelenting sunshine of Monmouth Manufacturing.

“Who tipped your gay scales, then?” Ronan asks finally, looking down at him through his lovely fringe of lashes.

“A teacher at school. Heartfelt dead poet’s society kind of dude, but in tighter shirts.” Adam can still remember the weight of the feeling, the dry mouthed excitement and the panic that followed. Liking girls too in 4th grade was a guilty relief.

“Are you sure that wasn’t Gansey?”

Adam scoffs. “I’m sure. Gansey doesn’t have the patience for elementary schoolers.”

“Or elementary schoolers don’t have the patience for him,” Ronan smirks. Adam allows himself the minor indulgence of smirking back, and then he braces himself for honesty.

“I did think about it. Gansey.” Adam looks at Ronan to see if he’s listening, and finds him staring at the ceiling with a controlled expression on his face.

“In the end I wanted to _be_ him, not be with him. And then I just wanted to keep him, so bad. Turns out he’s not quite my type,” Adam continues, pinching Ronan’s side so he’ll look at him. “And in case you’re _that_ obtuse — you. You’re my type.”

Ronan has this look in his eye like he wants to break a speedometer or make out, but then there’s a polite ‘shave and a haircut’ knock at the door, and it cracks immediately open.

“Knock knock. Everyone decent?” Gansey asks.

Adam’s in his underwear, but Ronan lost his somewhere half an hour ago, and Adam lunges for the sheets, hoisting them over Ronan’s lower half just as Gansey comes through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Ronan says, and Gansey’s eyes go wide at the debauched sight of them.

“Oh- god, guys. On the lord’s day?” He sort of half turns back towards the door and hovers there with a ginger hand over his eyes. Ronan grins wolfishly; he’s always taken a sort of twisted delight in shocking people.

“Adam was tense,” he says simply, making no effort to cover himself beyond the thin spread of the sheet.

“Gansey, you can look at us, it’s fine, we’re covered,” Adam says, though his face feels pinched with blood.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he says, grimacing. He’s turned, and his hands are clasped in front of him now. It’s obvious he’s trying not to let his gaze stray from Adam’s face. “I just wanted to know if you were ready for dinner but it’s clear you’re, um, not.”

“No, we can be ready in 10 minutes, I just need to shower—“

“I’ll come with you,” Ronan cuts in, and Adam gives him a dark look.

“You’re saying that to freak Gansey out.”

“ _No_ ,” Ronan says sarcastically, “he’s clearly unflappable.”

Gansey is bright red in the face, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip to keep his hands and thoughts occupied.

“I foolishly assumed it’d be safe at 5 PM on a Sunday,” He says flatly.

“Nah, never assume,” Ronan says, and then he stands, the sheet slithering to the floor. Gansey yelps and gropes for the door, it’s a whole production. Adam rolls his eyes and swats Ronan’s ass on his way by.

“Could you at least pretend you don’t want Gansey to see you naked?”

“Look I know he’s no 3rd grade teacher, Parrish—“

Adam tries to trip him and misses, and Ronan laughs, catching his leg on the second attempt and pulling him off the bed.

____

The weird thing is, it’s not that weird at all to be sitting down to dinner with all three Lynches. If you squint — they’re almost like shades of the same person, a complete set made from Declan’s diplomacy and Ronan’s passion and Matthew’s kindness.

Adam’s mostly enjoying it because Ronan’s pretending not to, rolling his eyes whenever Declan speaks and nudging Adam to his left or Matthew to his right to corral them in on the joke.

It’s a warped kind of funny to see Ronan make fun of Declan’s thoughtless pompousness when it’s bred into 5/7ths of the people bunched into the Nino’s booth.

He feels leather wristbands glide over the skin of his own wrist right before Ronan tangles their hands together, and Adam very carefully doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He leans into his side in silent reply, and the world narrows a fraction to both points of contact, over-warm in the humidity of the busy restaurant.

He feels suddenly sleepy; the air is heavy with the scent of tomato sauce, Ronan’s pliant next to him, Henry’s in animated conversation with Matthew over old action movies, and he has work at 5 AM tomorrow.

“You gonna make it past appetizers, kiddo?” Blue asks, quirking a smile from across the table.

Ronan looks down at him like he wasn’t aware of his drooping, and he pinches his hand at the fleshy junction between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ow, _jesus_.” Adam snatches his hand away and pinches Ronan’s neck in retaliation. Ronan goes for Adam’s ribs where he’s most ticklish, but Blue is snapping her fingers at them impatiently and Declan looks past ready to scold Ronan for something.

He holds Ronan’s hands away from his body at the wrists and looks back at Blue. “I’m fine. Waiting for the other shoe to drop with these idiots-“ he nods at Ronan and Declan, “is tiring.”

Blue nods. “I know. I’m just waiting for someone to chuck a pizza tray like a throwing star.”

“Nah, they’ve turned a new leaf,” Matthew says confidently, clapping both of his brothers on the shoulders. Everyone looks at him like one might look at a well meaning golden retriever.

“We’ve reached a conditional truce,” Ronan corrects. Adam eyes him, amused. Ronan wouldn’t be squeezed into a booth with anyone he didn’t want there.

“We did it for the children,” Declan says drily, ruffling Matthew’s golden head.

“Well I, for one, am enjoying the civility,” Gansey says, absently twirling a bread stick in marinara sauce. “I haven’t had to break up any fights in months. Well. Other than the great robobee debacle of ’15.“

“Oh _please_ , for the millionth time, Calla didn’t know it was robobee, ok, she just heard buzzing, what was she supposed to think—“

“Pshaw! She took out her frustration on an innocent!” Henry interrupts, holding up a scolding finger at Blue and looking altogether about as threatening as a child who’s toy was stepped on.

“Guys, guys, come on, Ronan dreamed a new one, it’s all in the past,” Gansey soothes, looking harried at having dropped himself in the crossfire.

“You’re lucky Robobee the second has cool upgrades,” Henry says. Blue rolls her eyes.

“Anyway,” Gansey says firmly. “We were heralding in an age of peace. Shall we toast?”

“Why not,” Declan says gamely, brandishing his water glass.

“We’re not _toasting_ two assholes not punching each other for five minutes,” Blue says, frowning. Adam tries to smother his snort in Ronan’s arm.

“I agree,” Ronan says, narrowing his eyes at Adam. _Traitor_ , they say.

“No, wait,” Adam says, voice runny with laughter. “I want to see them hug it out.”

“Here’s to good things in dark times,” Gansey says, transforming his cola bottle into a champagne flute by nature of being himself, wielding it with careless elegance. “And to brothers,” he catches Ronan’s eye and smiles warmly.

“Here’s to the taming of Ronan Lynch,” Henry says, grinning, and Ronan glares at him.

“And to less awkward church services, damn,” Matthew laughs.

“Fucking cheers, are we done?” Ronan says, throwing back the rest of his bottle and grabbing for Adam’s. He’s too warm and amused to do anything but catch Ronan’s hand and hold it, clacking bottles with his friends.

____

After dinner, they dismiss Gansey and the Camaro to joyride with Blue and Henry. The three of them always seem to glow hotter around each other, like Henry had completed a circuit.

Adam holds Ronan close by his wristbands, and they walk back to Monmouth, the Henrietta night blinking and whispering around them.

Ronan keeps smiling his fish hook of a smile, tugging Adam along after him. He mourns his day off as it draws up and closed like the shutting of a book.

“Do you think that worked? Declan and Matt and everyone?” Ronan asks, trying terribly for nonchalance.

Adam looks at him sideways, a little touched as always by the way Ronan opens up like this to only him.

“I think it worked,” he confirms. “I think if they all tolerate you they can definitely tolerate each other.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Fucking hilarious. You know you’re the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had?”

Adam smiles when Ronan does, helpless and shadowed where the street lights can’t touch. “That’ll start hurting when you stop driving me to work and dreaming me roses and kissing my neck all the time.”

Ronan flushes hard, right on cue, and Adam leans in, chasing the pink with his grinning mouth.

He feels ludicrous, a million years younger than he did six months ago.

Ronan throws an arm around Adam’s shoulders, though he’s still frowning.

“Next time it’s you, me, Opal, Matthew, and Declan. I was thinking—“ he cuts off, exhales through his teeth. “I was thinking family dinners. On Sundays. Like when I was a kid.”

Adam tries not to visibly startle. Ronan catches it anyway and pulls back.

“Or not. You can say no, Parrish, I won’t ask again if it’s a no.” He’s good at this, Adam’s noticed. At pulling away from judgement and intimacy in one fell swoop. In making a disconnect look like a kindness.

“How about a maybe. You know I’m not used to family anything,” he says carefully.

“We’ve basically been having family dinners at Nino’s for over a year, Adam,” Ronan says quietly, eyes intense.

Adam’s pulse hitches.

“Don’t you think Declan will have something to say about me barging in on your tradition?”

“Don’t you think I can set him straight?” Ronan replies, eyebrow raised.

“Not sure you can do much of anything straight.“

Ronan groans, “God, saw that coming a mile away.” He wrangles Adam back in by the neck in a strange, brotherly gesture.

“I guess I won’t say no to a hot meal.”

Ronan scoffs. “Yeah, when have you been known to refuse food,” he says, sarcastic.

“Fuck you,” Adam responds easily.

“Sure.” Ronan glances at a nonexistent watch. “Six hours until you’ve gotta be under some lucky bastard’s hood, we got time.”

“Maybe _you_ have time, I have these great plans where I sleep somewhere without creaking pipes for six hours.”

“You’re gonna dangle peaceful sleep in front of me, a tragic fucking insomniac with _terrible_ nightmares—“

“Oh jerk yourself off,” Adam says, half laughing, and Ronan chokes.

“ _Parrish_.”

“Are you sure it isn’t Lynch, now? I’m a part of family dinners, and everything.”

“Fuck you,” Ronan says, flushing again.

“Oh, we’re back on that—“

Ronan kisses him, and they stumble a little bit mid gait, Ronan grabbing a handful of Adam’s ass without preamble. “Shut _up_.”

But they’re both laughing, and Adam can pick out Ronan’s frenetic joy at Adam’s sly yes to Sundays with the Lynches.

He runs a hand over the crop of Ronan’s hair and around to cup his face. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work.”

Ronan turns his face into his hand comfortably. “Today was good though?” he says, tilting the end up into a careful question.

Adam hums in agreement. “Very.”

And then they’re walking again, warm with easy honesty, knocking shoulders as they round the corner.

Monmouth hovers into view and Adam feels a pang of deja vu.

“Hey,” Adam says, pulling Ronan up short. “Let’s go home.”

Ronan glances at him, puzzled. The realization settles in like honey from a bottle, slow and sweet.

“Driving from the Barns cuts your sleep down to five hours, maybe less,” Ronan says, unable to completely quell the pleased curl of his smile.

Adam sighs. “I know.”

“That’s not very practical of you, Parrish.”

“I think you physically dampen my practicality.”

“Home it is,” Ronan crows, picking up speed as the BMW comes into sharper focus a handful of metres away.

12 AM is minutes from dawning on Monday fucking morning, but Adam settles into the passenger seat with the particular satisfaction of having done a good, good thing.

He wakes up to Ronan trying to wrestle Adam’s limbs out of the car, and it’s a full beat before Adam realizes he was trying to carry him inside without waking him. He laughs, startled, and Ronan looks grim and unimpressed when their eyes meet.

“Go on,” Adam whispers, amused, and Ronan sneers, dropping his legs.

“Carry yourself.”

Adam snorts, hoisting himself upright and after Ronan’s stomping form. He drapes himself across his shoulders when he catches up, forcing Ronan to support his weight like an oversized backpack.

“You’re making a habit of this,” Ronan complains, but his hands are gentle bracelets on Adam’s forearms.

“It’s quality time, Lynch, cherish it.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Adam laughs in agreement.

They’d be a spectacle if anyone were around, a stumbling mess of limbs and stray laughter, tackling a twisting staircase with the grace of toddling children.

It’s forever before they’re tucked mercifully into Ronan’s bedroom, shoes off and clothes on, the comforter curled down at the foot of the bed.

“Next time you have a day off we’re coming straight here, okay?”

“Okay,” Adam slurs.

“Adam.”

“Yeah?” He rolls his face out from the pillow.

“I’m just. I’m fucking glad we’re home.”

His face is washed open by moonlight, emotion pinching his brow and wobbling at his mouth. He must not know just how illuminated he is, how awake Adam suddenly feels.

He gropes for Ronan’s arm and tugs it over his own body. “Yeah. Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is another of my babies & I'm.. exhausted
> 
> I've honest to god been editing this shit on and off for months I don't even know what I'll do without it tbh
> 
> I really hope you'll drop a comment or kudo if it made you smile!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading :')


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